The Perfect Wife

But the thought that he might be looking at her caused her heart to flutter in an adolescent way.

She glanced his way, caught his gaze, then quickly turned her head.

Had he been watching her?

Nah. Couldn’t be.

Yet even though there was no reason in the world why she should be so uncomfortable about making eye contact, why her heart would kick up a notch…

Oh, for Pete’s sake. She tugged at the hem of her extra-large T-shirt, which hid a multitude of sins…or rather, doughnut binges. If anything, Bo probably wondered why in the heck she’d come out in public looking like this.

“You know what?” Molly asked. “I think he’s interested in you. He keeps glancing your way with this…I don’t know, kind of a sweet, puppy-dog look in his eyes.”

“Bo?” Carly didn’t have to feign her surprise.

“That’s the one.”

Carly shrugged off the comment. After all, Bo, a self-employed artisan, was so completely down-to-earth he didn’t seem interested in the drama of suburbia. And Carly had fought long and hard to be queen of Danbury Way.

Yeah, right. Queen of an enormous mansion in New York State where her only companion was an echo of the haunting voice of a father who still pointed out her deficiencies within the cold silence.

Rebecca nodded her head toward the bathhouse. “Why don’t you make the first move. Before he leaves.”

“Oh, cut it out.” Carly rolled her eyes. “I’d never do that.”

“Why not?”

For a lot of reasons. She wasn’t that bold, for one. But she offered the one that seemed the most logical. “Because I still feel married, remember?”

Before either of her friends could counter with an argument, the wrought-iron gate swung open and several children dashed inside, followed by three smiling adults.

Carly’s heart pounded in her chest as she recognized Megan’s sister, Angela, and her kids.

That in itself would have been enough to cause Carly to make excuses and skedaddle.

But when Greg walked through the gate, with Megan on his arm—the woman he’d chosen as her replacement—all Carly wanted to do was slip into the hot tub and drown a lobster’s death.

The paunch in her belly seemed to swell and fold into Jabba the Hutt proportions. And all she could think of was getting the heck out of here. Quick.

Okay, so Greg and Megan, whose smiles had completely evaporated into the summer breeze the moment they’d spotted her, were probably uncomfortable, too. But they had each other to commiserate with. Carly was alone. And not up for any of this.

“Oh, my God, Carly. I’m really sorry about that. I never expected them to come here today.”

Whether it was Rebecca or Molly commenting, Carly wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she had to escape before she fell apart.

And she had to do it now.

She quickly looked at her right arm, where her wristwatch was supposed to be. “Gosh. I can’t believe how late it is. I’ve got to go.”

“I’ll take you home,” Molly said.

“Don’t bother. Enjoy the sun.” Carly forced a hollow smile. “I’d really prefer to walk. I need the exercise.”

Fortunately, Greg and Megan had made their way through the gate and found a place to sit near the shallow end of the pool. So Carly quickly climbed from her seat at the edge of the hot tub, strode toward the lounge chair, slipped on her sandals, grabbed her things and shoved them into the canvas tote bag she’d brought. Then she marched out the wrought-iron gate and headed for the parking lot.

It was going to be a long and miserable walk home, but she didn’t care. There was no way she’d stick around here a moment longer.

Heck, she could call a cab along the way.

But as she strode through the parking lot, just past a white Chevrolet sedan, she ran head-on into a wall of hunky flesh.

Oomph.

She gasped for air, only to catch a musky whiff of an earthy cologne.

Her eyes opened, and her gaze locked on Bo’s.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Her lips parted, but words deserted her, and she bit down on her bottom lip. As a single tear slipped down her cheek, Bo brushed it away with a work-roughened knuckle.

Then he slipped an arm around her and guided her toward his truck. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride home.”

Carly wasn’t able to find the words to object—even if she’d wanted to. And as he led her to his truck, she felt a tad more bold and a bit less married.

Chapter Two

Bo opened the passenger seat of his dual-wheeled Chevy pickup and watched the blonde of goddess proportions place her canvas bag on the seat, then scoot inside the cab.

An oversize, blue T-shirt, the comfortable, broken-in type most guys liked for puttering around the house or garage, covered her swimsuit, yet couldn’t hide a pair of long, shapely legs.

But her flip-flops…?

Nothing comfy or laid-back about them.

The white sandals added about two inches to her five-and-half-foot height. And the faux diamonds on the V-shaped strap drew his attention to pretty feet, with toenails painted cherry-red.

All in all, Carly Alderson was one head-turning package. But Bo knew better than to gawk and stare. She might think he had ulterior motives about driving her home. And that couldn’t be further from the truth. No matter how empathetic he felt, he didn’t get involved with classy, high-maintenance women like her.

“A wise man can’t afford to,” Uncle Roy had always said, before adding, “and I ain’t just talkin’ about money, son.”

Bo climbed into the driver’s seat, then started up the engine.

Under normal circumstances, he would have avoided getting even remotely involved with Carly, but in spite of his reluctance, he was a sucker when it came to tears—sincere ones, anyway.

That divorce had taken a toll on her, and seeing her ex with another woman must have been tough.

Of course, Greg Banning hadn’t looked too happy about seeing Carly at the pool, either. The smile he’d worn in the parking lot had sure disappeared the moment he’d laid eyes on his ex-wife.

No telling what was going on in his mind. Embarrassment, Bo suspected. Or guilt, maybe.

Whatever it was, he’d appeared to be just as uneasy and uncomfortable as Carly had been.

Maybe Greg was regretting the divorce. After all, he’d been more than generous with the settlement and had signed the house over to her. At least, that’s what Carly had told Bo the day he’d found her with red, puffy eyes and eating a bag of Oreos.

Divorces could get nasty. Bo had seen cases where once happy couples morphed into vicious, self-centered fiends when splitting up—even when there were kids involved, sad little victims looking for love and stability.

But Bo didn’t think a man would be as generous as Greg had been with Carly if he didn’t still have feelings for her.

In spite of his determination to keep his mind on driving, Bo glanced her way and caught her looking at him.

She offered him a smile. “I really appreciate this.”

“No problem. I’m glad I was able to give you a quick escape when you needed one.”

As he backed out of the parking space and pulled onto the street, he kept his focus fixed ahead rather than on his pretty passenger.

Or her bare legs.

“I can’t believe Greg showed up at the pool,” she said. “And in the middle of the day. He never used to take time off from work.”

Bo didn’t know what to say. “He probably didn’t expect to see you there, either, Carly.”

“Yeah, well, my neighbors thought it would do me good to get out.” She blew out a battered sigh. “And I can’t believe I let them convince me to do something so stupid. Boy, there’ll be a raging blizzard in August before I trek down to the public pool again—especially looking like this.”

“Like what?”

She glanced at the faded blue shirt she wore, then clicked her tongue. “Like something the cat dragged in.”

“Nah. You don’t look that bad. My mom has a couple of cats. And you’re a heck of a lot better to look at than the mangled remains they dump on her front porch.”

“Thanks.” A wry smile tugged at Carly’s lips as she crossed her arms, arched a brow and slid him an exasperated glance. “What a charming thing to say. You certainly know how to make a woman feel good.”

She was talking tongue in cheek, but his thoughts took an unexpected and unplanned sexual detour.

Bo did know how to make a woman feel good, but he wasn’t about to go that route with Carly. She was too vulnerable. And she was also the kind of woman a simple, middle-class guy ought to avoid.

But if, even for a few moments, he could help take her mind off her troubles this afternoon, he’d consider it his good deed for the day.

So he said, “I’m not sure why you’re feeling so self-conscious.”

She again tugged at the top she wore, a T-shirt like several he had in his chest of drawers and refused to get rid of. “Just look at me.”

He had been looking at her—more than was prudent for a guy who was adamant about not getting involved with a high-maintenance beauty into designer clothes, custom-made jewelry and luxury cars.

“I should have thrown this out years ago,” she added.

“Clothes don’t make the man or the woman, Carly. It’s what’s under them that counts.” Again, his thoughts drifted to the body that shirt covered up, those legs that could wrap around a man.

Damn. That wasn’t the direction he wanted his mind to go. So as a means of getting things back on track, he added, “You look real, as well as pretty. So what’s the problem?”

“Nothing. It’s just that…well, thanks for trying to make me feel better, but I’m not wearing any makeup, I haven’t spent any time on my hair and I should have found something different to wear over my suit.”

She didn’t know him very well, and he decided to set her straight. “I’m not blowing smoke, Carly. And I never say anything I don’t mean.”

He didn’t?

Carly’s gaze locked on Bo’s.

There was something in his eyes, something honest and solid. Something that made him more attractive, more appealing. For a moment, Carly wondered whether her friends might be right, wondered whether Bo might be interested in her in a male-female sort of way.

Or was he just being a nice guy?

He’d managed to tease her and coax a couple of smiles from her when she was such a pitiful mess, inside and out. And she hadn’t found anything remotely funny in months.

The small voice suggested it had been much longer than that, but Carly wouldn’t take the bait.

“I’m sorry,” she admitted. “I didn’t mean to sound unappreciative, but I don’t feel very pretty today, and there’s not much anyone can say to change my mind.”

“Beauty comes from within, Carly.”

She was familiar with the saying, even if she had trouble buying it. Her mom had told her something similar when she’d been a geeky adolescent, when a stupid kid at school had called her Bucky Beaver. But Carly had known getting her teeth straightened would help her feel better about herself. And she’d even approached her dad about it, knowing the family had a dental plan.

Are you nuts? he’d asked. Insurance doesn’t pay for cosmetic stuff. Besides, if you keep your mouth shut, people won’t focus on your teeth.

She’d gotten braces eventually—after she and Greg were married. And it had really bolstered her self-esteem.

So had a set of expensive white veneers.

“It’s more important to be pretty on the inside,” Bo added.

“You sound like a therapist.”

He shrugged. “Common sense comes easy to me. And so does looking beyond a person’s exterior.”

Oh, great. She sure hoped he couldn’t see beyond hers. There were things she’d never shared with anyone, not even with Greg. Things she didn’t want people to know.

“You’ve got a lot going for you, Carly.”

“I did,” she corrected. “But my husband and my marriage were my whole life. And now I’m not sure who I am anymore.”

“Probably the same person you used to be, only older and wiser.”

God, she hoped not. She’d left the overweight, geeky teenager with crooked teeth behind years ago.

Before the memories could draw her back in time, Bo pulled into the long drive, then circled to the front of the house and stopped.

As eager as Carly was to get inside, to slip into something more comfortable and dig through the freezer for a quart of cookie-dough ice cream she knew was hidden in a corner, she hesitated, not ready to let herself out.

“Thanks for the ride.”

“Anytime.”

She risked a glance across the seat, only to spot warmth in his smile, compassion in his gaze.

Or was it something else? A bond of some kind?

Over the course of the remodel, they’d spent time together, mostly just chatting. But today their conversation had taken a personal turn. More intimate.

She had no intention of voicing her thoughts, but the question slipped out anyway. “Are we becoming friends?”

He seemed to ponder the idea for a moment, then shot her a smile that went straight to her chest, causing a gentle stir, a healing touch. “I guess so.”

Molly and Rebecca had suggested that Carly find another man. A lover to set her life back on course. But the only life she knew was the one she’d created with Greg. Well, it wasn’t the only one she knew, but it was the only one she wanted.

Yet it was nice to know another man found her…attractive. Even if she didn’t feel that way.

“I’ve never had a female friend before,” he said. “This will be a first.”

Well, Carly hadn’t had a lot of friends, period. Especially not men. “I guess that means a friendship between us will be kind of unique.”

“Yeah.” He tossed another grin her way, making the friend thing sound nice. And the male-female stuff sound…interesting. Or at least possible—someday.

“Thanks, Bo. And not just for the ride. For the pep talk, too.”

“You’re welcome.”

She nodded, then let herself out of his pickup and headed for the front door.

It was, she supposed, an intriguing concept—having a male friend.

But as she stuck her key into the lock, she couldn’t help thinking about all the friends who’d let her down in the past.

And the two men in her life who should have loved her unconditionally.

Her father and her husband.

That evening Bo stood before the front door of the McMansion with a grocery sack in his arms. As he lifted his hand to ring the bell, he pondered the wisdom of stopping by to see Carly, in reaching out to a woman who, no matter what they’d discussed earlier, could never really be just his friend.

But he rang the bell anyway.

And he stood there for what seemed like hours.

He was just about to turn and walk away when Carly answered.

She peered out from behind the partially opened door, pulling it to her chest, hiding behind it like a shield and looking at him as if he were that big purple dinosaur little kids watched on TV.

Okay. So she was surprised to see him. He was a bit surprised he’d come by, too. But when Carly had asked him if they were becoming friends, he’d realized how badly she needed someone who’d be honest with her, and he’d decided to step up to the plate.

Not that he expected to maintain any kind of real friendship for long, but he would give her some sage advice, maybe on how to get her husband back—if she wanted him.

Either way, Bo hoped she’d end up having better luck in a relationship next time around.

She cleared her throat. “Hey.”

He shrugged, then lifted the brown grocery sack. “I thought you might need some company tonight. And something to make you feel better.”

“What’s that?”

He reached into the bag and whipped out a large package of Oreo cookies. “A few months back you told me this was your drug of choice.” Then he pulled out a bottle of merlot. “And this is mine.”

Carly laughed, a soft bubbly sound that made him glad he’d come by, after all.

“So,” he said, tossing her a crooked grin and tipping his chin at the fancy doorknob she gripped. “Are you going to let me in?”

“Sure.” She stepped aside, and when he entered, she closed the door and led him to the den.

As he followed, he couldn’t help studying her comfortable attire, appreciating the casual way about her, the natural sway of her hips. How her pretty bare feet padded against the expensive hardwood floor.

She wore a pair of gray sweatpants that rode low on her hips, and a white, cropped T-shirt that flashed a bit of midriff. He liked that style on women, but Carly tugged at the hem of her shirt as though uncomfortable, embarrassed to show her flesh.

He couldn’t understand why she’d feel awkward. She looked good this evening, even with her hair pulled up in a messy kind of ponytail. And although he’d seen her looking a lot more glamorous in the past, he preferred her like this—down-to-earth and approachable, rather than all dolled up and model-perfect.

Once inside the den, which no longer looked as though it had been on the cover of a Better Homes and Gardens magazine, she turned and faced him, tugging at the hem of her shirt again. “If I’d have known you were coming by—”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Apologize. It’s getting old.”

She shot him a possum-in-the-headlights look. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re far more attractive and a lot more appealing when you let your guard down.”

It was true—but a real understatement.

When he’d first met her while working on the McMansion, he’d initially thought she was too caught up in herself, too wrapped up in her appearance. But tonight she looked sexy as hell—and she didn’t have a clue.

Apparently, there was a lot more going on inside of her than he’d realized. More than most people realized.

He’d heard the sincerity ringing in her apologies, heard the honesty in her critical self-appraisal.

God. She had no idea. And the fact that she didn’t realize she could turn a man’s head, even Bo’s if he’d let her, was mind-boggling.

He felt compelled to help her figure it out and he couldn’t help teasing her, couldn’t help the grin that pried at his lips. “So where is he?”

“Who?”

Bo let the smile he’d been holding back run its course. “You look like you’ve been entertaining a lover and just sent him out back to avoid being caught in the act.”

Her eyes widened, as though she was taking his joke way too seriously. “I don’t have a lover.”

Maybe not yet. But she deserved one. And he suspected the dry spell wouldn’t last long.

He set the wine on the glass-topped coffee table, next to a TV Guide, a crossword puzzle book, a ball-point pen, a wadded up napkin and a nearly empty glass of milk.

“The cleaning lady comes tomorrow,” Carly said.

Bo hoped she wasn’t going to apologize for not having things spic-and-span.

Back when he’d been working at the McMansion, the place had always been picture-perfect and more like a model home than a place where someone would want to kick back and relax.

But it looked as though she’d been spending a lot of time in this small downstairs room, rather than wandering around the big, empty house.

Heck, he couldn’t blame her for that. He’d get lost in a mansion like this. Most people would.

He wondered if that’s how she felt, now that she was living alone.

“The rest of the house is in good shape,” she added, glancing around the den.

“If you apologize for one more thing, I’m going to start pelting you with Oreos.”

She smiled in that waiflike way, and he wondered where it came from. But he knew better than to pry.

He nodded toward the merlot. “I don’t suppose you have something we can open this with?”

“Sure. I’ll be right back.”

While she was gone, he opened the package of cookies. And when she returned, carrying a couple of glasses and a corkscrew, he offered her one.

“No thanks.”

“Cutting back?”

“Cookies and wine don’t go together.”

He shrugged, then uncorked the bottle, poured them each a glass and handed her one.

Carly took the wine Bo offered her, and when he chose one side of the leather sofa, she sat on the other.

“So what’s with your obsession with perfection?” he asked.

“Excuse me?”

He didn’t reiterate, and she was glad.

Yet knowing she might be missing something left her wildly curious. “You make trying hard sound like a character flaw.”

“Taken to an extreme, it can be.”

“You don’t understand.”

“I’d like to.”

She paused for the longest time, trying to figure out how to explain. She might appear vain on the outside, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

“All I wanted to do was make my husband happy he married me.”

Bo didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. It had to be obvious to him and the entire neighborhood that her efforts to please Greg hadn’t worked.

She thought long and hard before explaining. She wanted to answer honestly without revealing too much. It was a tricky row to hoe, but she’d give it her best shot.

“I was brought up in a blue-collar home where we didn’t have money for extras. And when Greg took me to meet his parents, I just wanted to fit in. To be accepted.”

“Greg wouldn’t have married you if he hadn’t seen something of value in you. If you hadn’t been good enough already.”

There was some truth to Bo’s words, but he had no idea how imperfect she’d been, how hard she’d had to struggle to prove herself.

“You don’t know the Bannings,” she said. Nor did he know the Aldersons. The families were complete opposites.

Bo took a sip of his merlot. “Tell me about them.”

“Greg’s parents? They are ultrawealthy and have high expectations for their son, for his wife.”

“Did they treat you badly?”

“Not really. Gregory was all right, I suppose. But Vanessa was almost impossible to please.”

“But you tried.”

She nodded. “Yes, I did. And it was a constant struggle.”

Her thoughts drifted back in time, to the only memories she was willing to share.

“For example, as a wedding gift, my mom and sister sent us a fancy coffeepot. But the Bannings gave us enough money to purchase a house on Danbury Way.”

“You can’t measure love by the cost of a gift.”

“I don’t. Believe me. My mom loves me as much or more than the Bannings love Greg, but she’s on permanent disability, and it’s a struggle for her to get by each month.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

So was Carly. But she did what she could to help out. “I send her money regularly, but she hates taking it from me.”

“I can understand that. I’ve always wanted to build my folks a new home in a better part of town, but they refuse to leave the old neighborhood. Still, I’m not sure if it’s because they really don’t want to move, or if their pride won’t let them accept my help.”

“It sounds like we have something in common.”

“Maybe so.” He took another drink.

She followed suit, then fingered the stem of her glass. “Within two years, Greg was a rising star at his father’s company and a great provider. I didn’t have to work, so I had plenty of time to focus on the house and on becoming a good wife.”

But a lot of good that had done.

Carly had started by working on her physical appearance—something she actually had power over. She’d even gone so far as to have a nose job, but she didn’t mention it to Bo. Nor did she tell him about the grueling daily workouts with a personal trainer, the regular visits to the salon, the shopping trips that kept her wardrobe constantly updated with stylish clothes and shoes.

“I threw myself into decorating the house,” she admitted. “And as Greg gained a more prestigious position in the company, we bought the lot next door, tore up both houses and rebuilt a larger, fancier one.”